A question of Existence
by XZeePoisonousOneX
Summary: ONESHOT! How can something that's already be dead die? Immortality could be a gift and a curse, but it certainly makes one patient. RnR. A little Gabriel/Dracula.


A Question of Existence

Author: XZeeoPoisonousOneX [AKA Beth]

Rating: T

Warnings: Tone of this piece seems very out of character, but you'll see why at the end XD

Disclaimer: I do not own Dracula nor do I wish to, if my fanfiction has anything to say about it. Oh yeah, I'm also not earning anything from this... though I wish I was cos I'm utterly skint ¬_¬

There is something to be said of dying, for a vampire at least. Perhaps this sounds slightly narcissistic, but it takes the undead by surprise. For years, centuries, we have been successful, triumphant, patient and immortal and suddenly all this triumph and unlife is ripped from us by mere _mortals_. Who would have thought that mortals could be so... troublesome? Each time one them staked me, beheaded me, crushed me I would watch my own triumph reflect on their faces- for but a moment- and then, just as they had hoped to rip me from this world I would rip them to pieces. So, you can understand my surprise when Van Helsing grew a set of fangs and fur right before my eyes and you can only imagine the sudden realisation as those big teeth of his sunk into my neck- the irony wasn't lost on me.

For the first time since my human death centuries before, I felt death's cold hands take me, drag me towards Hell, and the dogged triumph on Gabriel's face was not fleeting or otherwise short-lived. I felt my own blood betray me, coagulating within my veins, the centuries catching up with me as my consciousness remained intact within my skull. My eyes melted within their sockets, my flesh shrunk over my bones, my bones became brittle as the elements reached them finally. I could not see, but I had a vague awareness that my enemies' triumph was short-lived, only for Anna to be ripped from this world and thrown to the other- I did not envy her journey.

But I felt no flames of hell, nor the cool breezes of heaven upon me. Neither claimed me. Perhaps I was too evil for both heaven and hell? Or, perhaps this was purgatory. To be entirely honest, I didn't really care whether I had been accepted into the Legion of the Damned or the great Poker Club in the sky, I was more enraged that all my plans had been ruined. The patience of immortality had come to nought.

I must have boiled in my own rage for weeks maybe even months, losing track of time- time had always been of little use to me whilst I was undead- only for the realisation to finally dawn on me truly. I was in neither heaven nor hell, and this could not have been purgatory. Purgatory implies that after a few years of stewing in my own juices I would be forgiven by God and allowed to sashay through those big pearly gates, perhaps tip my hat at Saint Peter and ask a valet to park my car, which that would never happen. So, where was I? Or more importantly, what was I? A ghost? Surely ghosts would have more influence on the world around them than simply sitting pretty?

It was then that I heard it, well, I had no ears so 'sensed' seems to fit better, hopefully without sounding like some sort of fake circus psychic. What I 'sensed' was the thoughts of a few hundred people, the villagers that had been haunted by us Damned for centuries. What I sensed was that my existence still haunted the minds of those who had ever met me. For a while I was impressed with this, rather triumphant once more, until the ephemeral mortals began to die out, leaving behind only vague stories for their children. My existence weakened par one mind. The mind of Gabriel. Now _that_ excited me. My existence would strengthen because of his mere existence- there couldn't have been a more poetic vengeance.

After a few more years I found I could just wonder into his mind, change memories a little, or simply make him think back to the moment I almost bit into Anna's sumptuous flesh- his jealousy warming me. But I found that as he pondered these sorts of memories more and more, my influence within them grew until one day I actually succeeded in drinking from her, turning her into one of my own. Of course 'memory blood' is not as fulfilling as the real stuff, but immortality has a habit of making one _very_ patient.

And then suddenly, out of the darkness surrounding that one mind, another thought of me- immortalizing me in print. Now, if the notion of existing in my victims' minds was exciting, _this_ trumped the lot. I'd never met half of these British men and women—and as I waited, the rest of the world-- and here I was, acting out the story, terrorising them in nightmares and as the years progressed I found that my role as monster seemed to only become stronger. I was fantasised about, romanticised about. Women- and indeed men- began to wonder what it would be like to experience a vampire. Vampires- and myself- became something of a God in the world of the fictitious. I could stroll into any person's mind, my influence growing, and could alter memories and then.... influence actions.

It was the 1960s and I'd had fun enough in this woman's mind, she'd been thinking of me whilst making love to her husband—this sort of thing was not unusual, in some cases it would be the men that thought of me, but, come ce come ca – and as she slipped into her dreams I was there. I was lying next to her instead of her husband, smoking- awfully casual- and we were just talking. After a while her mind weakened to mine and we discussed my foiled plans, how I despised Van Helsing, how I wouldn't mind ripping him to shreds. At this point my influence would usually become too much that I would end up slipping into my own mind without my knowledge... but not this time.

"You know, if you could only find his identity now, I would kill him for you," This rather took me by surprise.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'd do anything for you." She leant in and kissed me, trailing tender kisses down my neck. At first I believed this to be any other dream, but curiosity piqued my interest and I stayed with her a while, waiting until her next dream to whisper his identity to her. We sat at the kitchen table, I was reading a newspaper, smoking a pipe and she was washing up, the plates and saucers hung in the air about her and as she cleaned one another would appear in its place—I'd merged into a dream entirely unrelated to me. "Darling, remember what we talked about yesterday?"

"Um, sorry, dear, one moment- these dishes..." I folded the paper, leaving the pipe on top and wondered over to her, finding some sort of dream resistance as I leant around her and plucked the plated from the air, piling them up- washed- on the draining board and led her over to the kitchen table, sitting her down. I remained standing.

"Do you remember now?"

"I suppose so- something about getting even?"

"Yes. I found his name and address, would you still do this for me?" She smiled, pulling off her marigolds.

"I'd do anything for you, Master." My smile broadened into a grin and I leant down and whispered in her ear his whereabouts and brushed my lips against hers. She woke up and I returned to being all but a shadow in the back of her mind. She pulled on her clothes, left a letter to her husband on the kitchen table: 'Gone to see my sister, don't call' and got in the car and simply drove away. She couldn't think of anything but Gabriel's address, what she'd do. She started to think about how to dispose of the body, how I would repay her. It was incredibly interesting.

The drive from her home in Paris to Milan where Gabriel now resided, was long, but save a few stops she remained on target. Within a few days she stood outside his house, a wooden chateau that had been built into the side of the sloping mountain, and she simply stood there, not necessarily building her courage, or thinking of anything in particular, but simply staring coldly.

Finally she went up the stairs, a knife concealed in her coat. Her mind by this point was perhaps less active than a fly's and my own consciousness seemed to flood hers, I knocked on the door, waiting a couple of beats until the door opened and there he was. His face was drawn, stubble shadowed his features and his eyes were suspicious and cold- the years had not been kind to him. "Excuse me, sir," I said in fracture French-Italian-English, "I am lost, could you tell me how to get back to the village?" Gabriel stared at me a moment, he sighed.

"Française?" he asked. I answered the affirmative and he thought a moment. "You need to turn back around, there's a crossroads about two miles down here and—" I stumbled into a feigned faint. He caught me, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, my sugar levels are low- I haven't eaten all day. I suppose I could have a glass of water?" He softened, the fragile femininity radiating from me and he led me inside, kicking the door closed behind him and sat me down on a sofa, he disappeared into the kitchen to get me a glass of water. His natural habitat looked like a junk yard, books and magazines were scattered about, knives, swords, a crossbow and a gun were mounted in glass cabinets and this appeared to be the only organization in the entire house.

"So what brings you here, miss....?"

"Laroche. I have some unfinished business here, an old friend of mine recently moved up here- I wished to settle old arguments."

"Seems a long way to go, he must mean a lot to you,"

"Or very little. Either way." I answered with a quirk of my lips, he placed the glass in front of me. He was smiling.

"Please excuse the mess, I haven't had a guest for years."

"You are a hermit?" He chuckled, with a smile; it was unnerving to find that one of my enemies was flirting with me, but somewhat amusing.

"You could say that, I'm not much of a people person, I prefer the security of the mountains." I smiled again.

"Well, I've always said that no-one is much of a people-person—we all just put up with each other. There are only a few of us who make a point of showing this fact." I sipped the water and started. Something told me it was holy water, and yet... there was no pain, a slight tingling at the centre of my forehead. And of course, I hadn't tasted anything in years. "The water's good up here, Mr..."

"Van Helsing," I scowled.

"Your mailboax says otherwise, Mr Van helsing."

"The previous owner's, I never got around to changing it." I smiled again, he eyed me.

"There's something familiar about you, have we met before?"

"In another life perhaps, I've never been to Milan before." I continued to smile flirtatiously, Gabriel stood up again. I followed him keenly, noticing how fidgetty he seemed, how on edge at having someone invade on his little world. Though it helped that Miss Laroche was gifted with, not exactly beauty, but a _way _about her... something that resonated both innocence and promiscuity.

"Are you hungry? We could have some toast, if you like?" I nodded coyly, pulling my hair back and up into a ponytail for a second, Gabriel's eyes subconsciously scaled my neck, he turned away. His guard was lowering- after all, what could a sweet French girl do to him? He'd fought monsters all his life, it was highly unlikely that I could get the better of him. But it was exactly this that gave me an advantage.

I entered the kitchen behind him, momentarily disgusted by the dirty counter tops, my enemy- my murderer- was a slob, I heard the subconscious of my host: "Would it kill him to touch a sponge?". Gabriel turned on the grill and slid a few slices of toast underneath it. "So, Miss Laroche, how is France, I haven't been there in years?"

"Same as usual, Mr Van helsing: Eiffel Tower, wine and roses. It's all rather boring."

"I think I'd like boring," He answered with a casual smile.

"Yes, you seem like a man who's had a very _active and interesting_ life. Only those sorts of men cut themselves off from the world. " I stifled a smile at seeing Van helsing bathe in the complements and flirtatious banter, his chest seemed to inflate and his eyes, which had seemed so lifeless, began to sparkle with boyish mischief. What it would be to watch the light disapper from his eyes, I thought desirously.

"You know too much, Miss Laroche, for a woman of your age." He chuckled, I smiled, batting my eyelashes at him and casually leaning against the counter. "Though it hasn't been so interesting, more just one fucking thing after another." He chuckled again. I nodded.

"Certainly." There was silence for a moment, it appeared awkward to him, to me I rather liked it, to watch him squirm. He was attracted to me, probably wished to bed me, but had been so cut off from the world that he had no idea how to go about it. It was amusing to see my enemy in such a prone state when all I really knew of him was strength and bravery.

"And how about this friend of yours, what do you hope to accomplish by travelling this far out for him?"

"He was never really a friend. We had our moment. Tension, I suppose, both of us wished to wear the trousers. I hope to settle a score- he ruined quite a lot in my life, left me alone and lost in the darkness—not to sound too overdramatic."

"Not at all, sounds like whatever you do, he has it coming to him," I grinned.

"Oh, he does. Perhaps it's a good thing I took a wrong turning though..." I looked down at my heels. Once again there was that silence and the smell of burning toast. Van helsing swore under his breath and pulled the toast out, slightly black in places and took plates down, piling jams and butter into his arms and placing them all on the kitchen table. "Have a seat if you like, miss Laroche."

"Oh, please, call me Reinette."

"Well, call me Gabriel."

"Like the angel?" He laughed shortly and sat down opposite me.

"I suppose so, though I'm hardly that." I laughed with him and spread butter and raspberry jaw over my toast, eating with relish, stifling a murmur at tasting something so sweet for the first time in so long. We talked for a while longer, mostly small-talk and light flirtation and then we returned to the lounge. I hadn't intended on staying so long, but there was something about drawing the deception out that was so much more thrilling. Gabriel sat next to me, thighs touching, "I suppose I should be going now, Gabriel."

"You don't have to go yet, I could make coffee." There was a moment of silence between us and our eyes locked gazes. We both leant in, our lips brushing and then locking, our tongues fighting for a dominance. My hand closed around the knife in my pocket as he pushed us back onto the sofa my skirt pushed up over my thighs. It was then that I slipped it into his stomach, he broke away from the kiss, choking and I pushed him back; blood stained my blouse and skirt. "Oh, dear, I seemed to have slipped, Gabriel." I grinned.

"It took a while but I finally got you back." I laughed, standing up and watching the shrunken husk of a man attempt standing to retaliate.

"Who are you?"

"Surely you couldn't forget _me_, Gabriel, or have you killed so many men that you've lost _count_?" Gabriel's face paled further.

"Count, I'll kill you!" He lurched forwards, tripping over the coffee table and rolling to the floor. "Though, this isn't exactly how I imagined it, I always thought I'd draw it out longer. And of course there's the question of your immortality, are you still immortal? You've served your purpose, after all. There aren't many evil monsters wondering around nowadays or if they are they can go largely unnoticed." Gabriel groaned into the carpet, blood pooling out from the wound to his stomach.

"I don't exactly want to hang around too long, my husband will be getting worried about me." I laughed.

"How, Count?"

I stepped around the table and kicked him in the stomach repeatedly; my heels slick and shining with blood, "Do. You. Really. Think. I'd. Tell. You. That?" I stood over him watching as he scrabbled about, trying to find something to attack me with, it was too late though, the fatal blow had been dealt. I stepped back, watched a moment longer as his movements slowed and his eyes closed and his body stilled.

It was over; I'd had my revenge- for now- I'd find out if he was still truly immortal shortly enough. If he was, he'd have his guard up, no doubt he'd tell those do-gooders at the Vatican. I strode out of that house a new man. But I mean it.

For the moment I _was_ Van Helsing. And have been ever since.

It's the year 2010 and Van Helsing has become quite the mass-murderer and it appears that his body is still immortal and his mind is nothing but a fly in the back of my mind, occasionally buzzing, but mostly dealing with the shit within his own conscience at being the weapon of my attacks.

And I won't slow down.

I like to occasionally shop about, browse the clothing rack of mortal beings, live in their shoes a few weeks, kill their children, their dog or cat, their grandmothers and then leave as they come to trial. That game never gets old. I've worn Prime Ministers, Presidents, First Ladies, Doctors, Surgeons, Cardinals—and I'm working my way up to the Pope, but just as I get a foot on that ladder they die, shame really. I've been trying to get into their little Dome of Secrets, see if they have anything that might liven up my life a bit. Something that might help in my creation of vampires. So far, there hasn't been anything, an old journal filled with subjunctives, I've had a couple of the Fathers attempt following out these experiments, but it will be a while before I'm returned to my former glory. But I can wait, as long as I'm still being published; I have all the time in the world.

A/N: So yes, this was meant to be EPIC HORROR! I hope you enjoyed it! RnR, if you like, it would make my day all shiny and cool ^__^! So yes, until next time!

XZeeOneAndOnlyPoisonousOneX


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